Pressure of the Moment, The
by Traxits
Summary: They all had their own lives to return to: Zell, Squall, Selphie and Quistis had killing to do; Rinoa had Timber to free. Sad fact was that Irvine was simply the specialty fighter they'd picked up and been unable to return after everything went to hell.
1. Book I: Memories, Chapter I: Beginnings

**Title**: The Pressure of the Moment  
**Author**: Traxits  
**Fandom**: Final Fantasy VIII  
**Story Rating**: T (teen)  
**Chapter Rating**: K+ (mention of blood).  
**Chapter Content**: Massive spoilers, right off the bat. I know the game is around eleven years old by now, but I don't want to take anyone by surprise. Beyond that, I will post chapter by chapter warnings as issues arise.  
**Chapter Word Count**: 3057 words.  
**Story Summary**: Every destiny begins somewhere. At one point, they were all children, all innocent. Some of them, however, lost their innocence a little earlier than others, and sometimes, even when it's all over, fate hasn't let go yet.  
**Chapter Summary**: Edea discovers Irvine alone in Timber, and she works to locate a family to take him.  
**Author's Note(s)**: Originally, this was my project for Megaflare 2010, a writing community on Dreamwidth, but it rapidly grew far too large for that. Instead, I will be tackling a different plot line for that one, and I humbly present my interpretation of Irvine's character for your perusal. It is important to remember that this is _speculative_ fiction (by definition, isn't most fanfiction?), and at times, I may have stretched the canon to fit over my story. Any inconsistencies are my own, and I do apologize for them.

That being said, these first few chapters do heavily explore a theme that I proposed when I wrote and posted "An Instant of Tension," but they delve into far greater detail and do not shy away from the uglier parts as much. Yes, I did use the same quote ("_The pressure of the moment...An instant of tension... __That's what...I have to face alone..._") for the two stories, as really, they are one and the same.

The quote from the movie at the end of the chapter is actually from Firefly, episode 12 "_The Message_." I didn't use the plot or anything, just the quote stated.

Finally, I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or any of its characters.

**[[ … Book I: Memories … ]]**

**[[ … Chapter I: Beginnings … ]]**

"One at a time, children." Edea was laughing as she passed out lunch boxes, making certain everyone had something to eat. "We have a long train ride ahead of us. Let's go ahead and eat so that everything has time to settle. … Seifer, don't poke at Squall's lunch." She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled when Quistis plopped down to sit between the two boys, ensuring that no fights broke out in the middle of the square just outside of hotel. Cid was on his way back, meeting them just in front of the hotel before they were to catch the train to Balamb.

Another lengthy boat ride, and then they'd be back at home, where the children could play a little more freely. She had to admit, she was ready to be back home. The crush of people on the mainland was almost unbearable, and constantly having to pretend that she was completely normal had worn heavily on her nerves.

"Selphie, drink your juice. Don't wave it around like that; you'll drop it." Sighing, Edea surveyed her little group, reaching up to push the heavy fall of her hair back over her shoulder as she did. Seifer was reaching around Quistis's back to poke Squall, despite the younger boy pointedly ignoring him. Ellone was on the other side of Squall, her box in her lap as she handed Squall what was probably all the best parts of it. Selphie sat nearby, happily chewing on her sandwich, juice box on the ground since she'd been scolded. That left only–

"Zell?" She twisted, looking around the open area, her eyes narrowing. Normally, he sat the closest to her, shielding himself from Seifer behind her skirt. She'd even given him his lunch box first so that she wouldn't have to worry about him as she sorted out the others. Now, she took a few steps from their group, scanning the edges of the alleys–

There he was, crouched down in the entrance to one of the smaller side streets, box open on the ground, his juice box sitting between himself and another boy. Edea stopped moving, looking at the other youth for several moments. He was painfully thin, his clothes ragged around the edges. He had dirt smudged over the side of his face; long brown hair fell, matted and uncombed, down his back. She felt a tightness in her chest; she had lost count of how many children she'd discovered looking like that.

Zell tore a large chunk out of his sandwich and held it out. For just a moment, she didn't think that his new friend would take it, then he finally did. Zell's grin widened, and he glanced over his shoulder back toward Edea. He was so _proud_ of himself, that it made her smile, and she noticed the other boy looking up at her as well. She glanced around, ensuring that no one was paying her too much attention, and then she purposely let herself relax, let the magic in her blood rise to just under her skin.

In this state, with her eyes melting into a warm gold color, her gaze was hypnotic, encouraging. It was the single best gift she'd been given as a Sorceress, the ability to convince people to trust her, no matter what their instincts said. She approached the two boys carefully all the same, not wanting to startle them. "Zell, are you going to introduce me?" She sank down to her knees, tucking her long black skirt under herself without thinking about it.

Both of them looked up at her without speaking, and she nodded slowly before she turned her gaze to the other boy. She could hear Zell slurping juice happily, and she reached out a hand to the newcomer. "Hello there. I'm ..." She hesitated. She'd never told any of the children her first name, and yet, introducing herself as 'Matron' didn't seem quite right for the situation. "Edea," she finally said softly, and he smiled at her. His smaller hand slipped into hers, and he ducked his head. He didn't break eye contact though.

"I-Irvine," he whispered. He blinked at her very slowly, as though fighting the urge to.

"It's lovely to meet you. Where are your parents, Irvine?" She was very careful, not wanting to overload him. One question at a time, adding his name at the end of them to make certain that he realized what she wanted was the slower way, but it was safer for him. She had already created a bond with him. He would trust her now, even if she had to immediately drop the spell. She didn't think she'd need to though.

Irvine shook his head, his blue eyes widening a fraction. His pupils narrowed to pinpricks of black, and she nodded to herself. Dead then. Some sort of trauma had afflicted him. "And how old are you, Irvine?"

"Four."

She doubted that but didn't say it out loud. He looked a little older; five, maybe even six. "That was the last birthday you celebrated, Irvine?" She sighed quietly when he nodded, and she held out her arms. He stood, legs trembling slightly, and came to her, collapsing against her. She held him quietly, listening to the chatter of the other children, to Zell, still noisily trying to get the last drops out of his juice box.

He wordlessly nodded, and she stood then, moving to hold his hand. Zell fell into step behind her, taking Irvine's other hand without prompting. His lunch box was in his free hand, and Irvine's eyes widened as he approached the group. He tensed, but he didn't fight her. She let the magic fade from her eyes then as she knelt with the other children, coaxing Irvine to sit beside her.

"Everyone, this is Irvine. He's going to go home with us." She reached up and pushed his hair back out of his face, smiling warmly. Cid was walking up the path, papers in hand. He stopped when he saw her, smiled fondly, and turned right back around. They were going to need another ticket.

**[[ ... ]]**

"MATWYN!"

Edea blew out a breath and turned to look at the doorway. Zell shouted again, and she wiped the flour off of her hands on the towel by the sink before walking out to see what was the matter. Her white apron was left on the hook by the kitchen, and when she saw the blood in the courtyard, she gasped. "Boys!"

Irvine and Seifer both guiltily looked up at her, their small fists first clenching, then relaxing. Blood had been smeared all over both sets of knuckles, but Zell was still clinging to one of Irvine's arms, clearly trying to break up the fight. Edea crossed the yard, staring down at all of them as she wrapped her arms around her middle. Her eyes darted over to Zell's hair, mussed up and everywhere. She frowned.

"Seifer, did you pull Zell's hair?"

Seifer froze, then clenched his hand into a fist and scowled through the blood still pouring from his nose. Finally, he nodded, and Edea sighed as she knelt and looked carefully at his face. There didn't seem to be any permanent damage; it didn't even look broken, thankfully. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood up with. "Go wash up," she told him firmly. "We will talk about this after you're done."

Seifer nodded slowly, taking the small piece of cloth with him as he stalked off. She shook her head a little. Not even five yet, and he could already swagger with the best of them. She turned her attention then to Irvine. The boy hadn't moved a muscle, despite Zell still tugging on his arm. His brown hair was wild and a little curly, sticking to the blood rubbed under his nose. She inspected him as well, touching his chin and turning his head this way and that. When she was satisfied, she touched Zell's wrist.

"Why don't you go on in, dear?"

But as the words came out of her mouth, Irvine's hand wrapped around Zell's wrist, keeping the smaller boy exactly where he was. She smiled faintly. "Want him to stay, do you? Very well. … Irvine, you can't keep fighting with Seifer." She touched the blood lightly with her fingertips. It was already beginning to dry. Gingerly, she started sweeping his hair from the sticky mess.

"He's mean."

"That might be so, but it is no excuse for you to punch him." To her pleasure, Irvine didn't try to deny that he was the one to swing first. Instead, he simply bowed his head to her, accepting that she simply _knew_. She leaned back a little and offered a faint smile. "It is good that you protect Zell, but why don't you start coming to me first, instead of fighting?"

"Yes, Matron," he murmured, looking down.

She patted him on the top of his head. "Go clean up." He immediately darted away, tugging Zell along behind him. Tears were still in the blond's eyes, but he seemed to cheer up a bit when he saw Selphie in the doorway, cheerfully waving despite all the blood on Irvine's face.

"Edea."

She looked up at the new voice, and her smile widened. "Isobel. I wasn't aware that you were coming for a visit today." She bowed slightly to her guest, a little surprised that she hadn't heard her approaching.

Isobel was lovely, her soft brown hair falling around her face in waves, held back by a narrow purple ribbon. Her dress was simple, particularly when one took into account that she was probably the wealthiest woman in Galbadia. "Yes, well. Father was searching, you know? For battle island." She wiggled her fingers, laughing at the thought. Her father had been searching for battle island for years.

"I see. … You must come in." Remembering her manners, Edea stepped to the side, holding out her hand. "I was just about to put bread in the oven."

"Oh, how lovely." Isobel nodded and followed Edea into the kitchen, where she set her bag down on the table. She fell into one of the chairs, and Edea pulled her apron back on and washed her hands again. "How is my little Irvine doing, Edea?" Isobel propped her head up on one hand, and Edea glanced over at her as she resumed work on the dough. A puff of flour went up in the air, and she couldn't help but notice that it stuck to Isobel's glossy lips, ruining the manicured front the woman wore. Edea hid a smile.

"He's doing well. Got into a fight just a few moments ago." She glanced down and started to separate the dough, working it into smaller sections. "Defending Zell from Seifer."

Isobel pursed her lips for a moment, then smiled. "Poor dear. He's always protecting that boy though. Well, or chasing the little girl. … Selphie?"

"Yes. He has developed quite the crush." Edea laughed as she began to roll the smaller pieces into long logs to braid. Braided loaves were Zell's favorite, and after the incident today, she was certain he could use them. "Have you given it anymore thought, Isobel?" Edea lifted her eyes in time to watch Isobel begin picking at the corner of the chair. Nerves.

"I have. I... I think I will, Edea. If you believe it's a good idea. Do you think he would like me?"

She couldn't stop the laugh from bubbling up, and she waved a little at Isobel's flush. "No, no! I don't mean anything by it. I'm just surprised that someone as confident as you is doubtful of her ability to secure a little boy's heart." Edea placed the rolls on a tray to rise and wiped her hands on the apron before peeling it off. "You have your soldier... Martine? You have him practically eating out of your hand."

"He's not a soldier." Isobel's smile returned, and she relaxed in her seat. "He's a tactician." But she didn't offer anymore information on the matter. Instead, she asked, "Where is Cid? Normally he helps you with the baking."

"He took a few of the children to their new homes." Edea hung the apron up on the hook and turned to face Isobel. "Are you planning on spending some time with the little ones today?"

"With Irvine? Yes, of course. Look, I even brought a movie." Isobel reached into her bag and pulled out a little box, which she handed over to Edea. "_Tranquility_. It's a cowboy movie. I thought they might like it."

Edea studied it for a few minutes, then nodded and handed it back. "Why don't you go set it up and I'll fetch them for you then?" She waited until Isobel had entered the next room, and then she went through the house, sending children as she found them to sit in the living area. The last one she found was Seifer. She sank to her knees in front of him, lightly brushing his hair back with a finger.

"Are you feeling up to a movie?" she asked softly, and when he nodded, she smiled. "Good. I will speak with you about your behavior after Miss Kinneas leaves." She watched him frown, but he nodded slowly to her all the same. "Now, let's go see this film, shall we?"

He reached for her hand, but he quickly looked at the floor when she turned to look at him. "Matron?"

"Yes, Seifer?" She frowned just a little.

"Can... Can I help you in the kitchen?"

She hesitated, and then reached up to brush his hair back from his face. "Dear," she started, and then she sighed. "Why don't you watch the movie with the other children? You may help me in the kitchen another night." She put her hand on his shoulder and walked with him back into the living area. The television was already on, but the movie hadn't started yet. Gently, Edea pushed Seifer into a chair. Quistis immediately seated herself beside him, giving him a pointed look.

Ellone sat on the floor, with Squall in her lap. He really was getting too big for that but watching Ellone gently smooth out his hair with her happy smile, Edea realized that she didn't have the heart to insist he sit on the floor beside her instead. Instead, she glanced over at Isobel, who smiled and clicked the remote, turning on the movie. Irvine sat on the floor in front of her, with Selphie and Zell on either side of him. Edea's smile widened as she realized that both of the children were leaning over on Irvine's shoulders.

She slipped back into the kitchen. She half-listened to the movie– typical cowboy film about good against evil, with the hero insisting that he was not a hero– as she prepared supper, and by the time she was ready to call everyone to it, the movie was close to over. She stood in the doorway, watching with the children as the hero confronted the villain, only to discover after firing the lethal shot that he wasn't a villain at all, simply misunderstood.

"_When you can't run,_" the man whispered, "_you crawl. And when you can't... when you can't crawl..._"

"_You find someone to carry you._"

Edea couldn't help mouthing the words with the hero, and she wanted to laugh as she saw Zell do the same. Neither she nor the children had ever seen this particular film, but she knew the series. It was Isobel's favorite, and the heiress often brought movies from it for the children to watch. When it was all finally over, the villain buried and the hero riding off into the sunset, Edea clapped her hands once.

Everyone jumped, and Isobel laughed. "Matron," she said with a little grin on her face, "you startled me! Whatever is it?"

"Dinner is ready."

There was practically a charge for the kitchen, and Edea stood by the doorway with Isobel. The children, even with their rush, were relatively orderly, Ellone dishing out bowls while Squall handed them to the others. Edea lifted her eyes to Isobel and tilted her head a little.

"Why don't you ask him tonight? See how he feels about it."

Isobel blushed a little, but she smiled anyway, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hand. "Do you think I should? He seems happy here, Edea–"

"Ask him. If he's agreeable, we'll talk more about it."

Isobel nodded then, and soon, they were all sitting down at the table, bowls in front of them. Discussion rose and fell, mostly about the movie, until finally, Irvine asked a question.

"Why did he wear a black hat?"

Isobel smiled to herself, stirring her soup idly as she murmured, "Because he was the cute one." It wasn't until Edea coughed that Isobel even seemed to realize that she'd spoken aloud. Her blush returned full force, and she quickly shoved a spoonful of soup into her mouth to buy herself a few moments.

Seifer frowned at Irvine. "Because he was the bad guy, dummy."

"If he was such a bad guy, why did the other guy get upset for having to shoot him, idiot?" Irvine scowled, dropping his spoon as he glared at Seifer.

"Boys." Isobel's voice was firmer now that she had taken a moment to compose herself, and Edea let her handle the conversation, wanting to see where she would take it. "Boys. In these sorts of movies, the good and bad guys wear certain kinds of clues to let you know who you should be rooting for. Scars over the face are generally a bad thing, as are black hats. People wearing black hats do things like killing other people for money. It makes them what we call a 'villain.'"

The children all nodded slowly, and Edea glanced over at Isobel, who looked intently at her dinner for the rest of the evening. In fact, she didn't say another word until Edea sent the children to play, and Irvine stayed just long enough to thank her for the movie. Isobel seized her chance then.

"Irvine," her voice was soft, warm. "Would you like to live with me, dear?"


	2. Chapter II: By My Side

**Title**: The Pressure of the Moment  
**Author**: Traxits  
**Fandom**: Final Fantasy VIII  
**Chapter Rating**: K.**  
****Chapter Word Count**: 3477 words.  
**Chapter Summary**: The creation of Garden is set in motion, and Isobel prepares Irvine for one more major change in the household.  
**Author's Note(s)**: I freely admit to changing some scenes presented in the game just slightly: I took out some of the dialogue between Edea and Squall. I'm not attempting to novelize the game, but instead, I want to reinterpret some of the most important scenes. This is the first (last, if we're talking in terms of game time-line) of them to be presented here.

I know that the summary speaks of Irvine's life post-game. I am aware that it is a little misleading right at this moment. Rest assured that the clock will pick up soon; I want to set down my own head-canon of Irvine's past so that his actions in the later section of the story make sense.

As for Martine's name, I settled on calling him "Martine Dodonna," as Dodonna is his name in the original Japanese version of the game.

**[[ … Chapter II: By My Side … ]]**

"I'm gonna find Sis!"

"Squall!" Edea watched him dart out of the kitchen into the courtyard, and she peeled off her apron before jogging after him. "Squall, wait!" Ellone was out for the day with the older children, on a trip with Cid for her eleventh birthday; she simply wasn't _there_ for Squall to find.

The bright sunlight made her blink rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision, and when she finally did, she swallowed, noticing a young man standing in the middle of the walkway. He was staring at her, brows drawn, hand on the sword at his hip. The wind ruffled the plush collar of his jacket, blew his dark hair into his eyes. Strangely, he seemed... familiar.

"Excuse me," Edea smiled as she approached him, slowing to a walk. "Have you seen a little boy?"

He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at her. His gaze was intense, so much so that it was frightening, but she felt no fear. She didn't think that he wouldn't hurt her or the children. His hand loosened its white-knuckled grip on the sword– no, gunblade. She was close enough to actually see the revolver-like grip on the weapon. When he spoke, his voice was rough, tired. It sounded as though he hadn't spoken in days.

"He won't go anywhere."

She smiled a little. That wasn't necessarily her concern, but a sudden flash of light made her stop. Back toward the building, a woman was swaying, hardly able to stand on her own feet. She trembled, taking first one step, then another one. The young man beside Edea immediately drew his sword, pushing her behind him.

"No! Matron, stand back." His eyes flashed, and Edea quickly reached for his arm.

"Stop." She stepped around him, one hand lifting to touch herself. She purposely drew a deep breath to steady herself. "She's dying. She has to release her powers, or she can never rest in peace." She ignored the youth, instead reaching out a hand to the strange woman. She was a sister, no matter who she was. All sorceresses felt that instinctive connection, the _understanding_ that they were the same, that they were the only ones who knew what it was to be feared.

The woman reached for her, gasping, the slightest hint of blood in the corner of her mouth. "I... I can't..." Her breathing was labored, and Edea made a noise as she collapsed in her arms. "I can't disappear yet."

The sound broke Edea's heart, and she closed her eyes as she lifted a hand to smooth over the woman's hair. "Take a breath. I will take them. You can rest now." Strangely enough, it seemed to upset the woman even more, but she was too far gone. She couldn't fight it forever. Edea felt her skin beginning to tingle, and she pulled the woman close, her own eyes closing.

It was invasive, to feel _someone_ flooding in so fully, to feel their thoughts and memories melting away as the power scorched through blood. It was intimate, and Edea's eyes flew open, her pupils glowing gold as she watched helplessly. Accepting powers meant accepting memories to a degree, it meant accepting thoughts and everything that made the sorceress a person.

Images flashed before her, a crowd in Deling, bullet flying straight for her heart, an ice spear flying from her fingers. A strange red building that she knew for some reason that she _hated_, a youth– no, two– with matching scars across their faces, fighting. She felt tears pressing in behind her eyes, and then the ideas began thrusting through her head. Words that made no sense. Garden. SeeD?

By the time the assault lifted, the woman in her arms was fading, and she touched Edea's face lightly with a single fingertip. She was brushing away a tear that Edea hadn't even realized had escaped her. "When it..." She swallowed, and the blood bubbled up on her lips. "Just give in," she finally whispered, and then she was gone. One moment, she had been a living breathing person, and within the space of a heartbeat, she was a corpse, and then the fire consumed her. It was as though she'd never existed at all.

Edea stayed, kneeling on the ground for a few moments before she lifted her eyes back up to the young man standing before her. She felt a thrill run down her back. "You can't stay here," she murmured. "Can you get back?"

Before he could answer, Squall ran back to her, stopping just out of arm's reach.

"I can't find Sis." He sounded so forlorn, so_ broken_ that Edea held out her arms to him. He stepped just close enough for her to rub his shoulders. He looked up at the young man, frowning. "Who are you?"

"He's no one. He doesn't matter." Edea pointedly glanced up at the man, her eyes narrowing. "There's only one Squall permitted here," she added softly. He nodded to her, bowing his head and then lifting his right hand as he snapped to attention. Palm towards his face, all fingers extended and pressed together, he covered his right eye without actually touching it.

"Yes, Matron," he whispered.

The boy in her arms copied him perfectly. It was his own private code with Ellone, with Sis, something that Ellone had said his mother had done, showing off her wedding ring. Edea pulled him closer to her, closing her eyes. There was work to be done, she knew that now.

**[[ ... ]]**

According to Isobel, it had been seven months since his adoption, but this was the first he'd heard of the boy, thanks to some sleazy tabloid in Deling City. The adoption paperwork said that he was five years old, and Edea had listed his birthday as the day she'd found him: November 24th. Martine had to admit that it was a little disturbing, that he couldn't be completely sure of the child's age, but Edea and Isobel both had reassured him that it was normal. So many children had lost everyone close to them that birthdays were invented for most of the orphans in the shelter.

"Why, exactly did you adopt him in the first place?" He knew that he was frowning, but he couldn't seem to help it. He'd been courting Isobel for almost two years, and now, having survived everything that her father could throw at him, Martine was finally lined up to propose. His own meager funds had been channeled into moving him into her circles, and he was beginning to chafe. The entire thing was _wrong_, and surely she _knew_ how much he was struggling to keep up with her.

"He needed a home." Isobel leaned a little over the vanity she was sitting at, applying something shiny to her lips. She did that thing that she always did when applying her makeup, pressing her lips together and looking at herself closely in the mirror before she applied another coat.

Martine blew out a breath. "But you only adopted him? Didn't you say he was close to two other children there?" He stood in the doorway to her room, well aware that it would cause a flurry of gossip among her father's servants. It was why the door still stood open.

"They didn't look the part." She pushed herself back from the vanity, turning to smile at him. "Just wait until you see him, dear. He looks like me." She giggled, reaching up to cover her mouth with one hand. Her eyebrows arched, and then she reached out and took his hand. "Oh, don't look at me like that. … This changes _nothing_, Martine."

"Changes nothing?" He folded his arms over his chest, refusing to let her sway him so easily. He folded to most of her wishes, but this was simply unacceptable. Adopting a child without any sort of warning or consultation? "Isobel, he's a _person_. It changes everything."

She waved a hand. "Nonsense. Besides, it's not as though I have any sort of obligation to you, do I, Mar?" She tilted her head, looking up at him expectantly. His frown deepened a fraction more, and then he sighed. He couldn't deny her for long. Not as much as he found himself craving to see her smile.

"Well, I was wanting to save it," he started, only to stop when he realized that she wasn't even looking at him any longer. He turned to follow her gaze, and he felt himself still. The boy stood in the hallway, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand. Long brown hair, almost an exact match to Isobel's, tumbled down his back in loose curls. When he lifted his eyes, Martine swallowed. He also had blue eyes. In fact, they looked suspiciously like his own.

He could understand, looking at the boy like this, why the tabloids were in such an uproar over him. Martine's courtship of Isobel was a popular topic, Galbadia's wealthiest heiress interested in a simple military man was a good story, and suddenly she appeared with a boy who could easily have been _theirs_.

"Irvine, dear, why don't you tell Mr. Dodonna hello?"

The boy hesitated briefly before he ducked his head in some semblance of a bow. "Mr. Dodonna, it is an honor to meet you."

"Isn't he well-mannered?" Isobel looked back up at him, and Martine nodded slowly in agreement. If nothing else, she had done well in training the youth. He squatted down to really look at the child, and he felt something in his chest twist. Irvine had the eyes of a survivor, even if she said he wouldn't speak of his parents. Perhaps he didn't remember them. Perhaps, Martine realized slowly, it was a blessing.

"Isobel, we should talk." He looked at her pointedly, and she sighed before she knelt down and smiled brightly at Irvine.

"Dear, why don't you go wait in the playroom? I'll come by soon and we can watch something together. Pick out a movie."

Irvine continued to study Martine, and of all things, Martine actually felt like he were being sized up. Irvine was a large child, appearing to be at least seven, perhaps even eight. Martine's frown deepened, and it wasn't until he felt Isobel's hand touch the side of his face that he stopped.

"You look so serious all the time. You're going to get old very fast that way." Isobel let her hand slide down to touch his shoulder, and she tilted her head to one side a little. "Just what are you thinking about?"

"Isobel..." Martine knew he sounded grave. He somehow always managed to whenever anything serious came up. He withdrew a small box from his coat pocket, watching her face. Quickly, she hurried to sit in her vanity, crossing her ankles and looking at him expectantly. She looked as though she were posing for a photograph. He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face. Even if he didn't _love_ her, exactly, he was glad that she was the one. It made everything much easier.

He walked over to her chair, dropping to one knee as he proffered the tiny box to her. It was emerald-green, the exact shade of her eyes. Two months of pay had gone into the box alone. She took it from him with dainty fingertips, examining every inch of it.

"Isobel," he said as he covered her hands with his own, guiding her searching fingers to the hidden catch that swung open to reveal the ring. He didn't let himself think about how much money that had cost. "Would you marry me? Be my wife."

She giggled like a girl, reaching up to cover her mouth as she looked at him. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she nodded before she threw her arms around him. When her mouth was just beside his ear, she added, "Of course I will, Martine."

**[[ ... ]]**

She had insisted on driving herself to the fair with Irvine, with _her son_. Her smile widened a fraction at the thought, and she laughed with him as he held her hand, cheerfully pointing out anything that he liked. She encouraged him, and even bought him one of the cowboy hats he coveted. A white one, of course, but then again, what else would her son wear?

As he spotted the chocobos, he tugged on her hand, dragging her over to the corral. The birds were huge, standing easily a few feet taller than she was, and yet, they were making the softest 'kewh' noise that she'd ever heard. She giggled, and when a cowboy poured seed into her hand to hold out, the giant beak was gentle, just barely nipping the skin as the bird picked the seed from her. She quickly motioned for Irvine to climb the fence, and the young man helped steady him at the top. She brushed the seed from her fingers into Irvine's, and he giggled, same as she did at the sensation.

All of the birds were yellow and saddled up, clearly ready for a ride. After another handful of seed, Irvine was on the back of one, the young man leading it around the corral. Irvine was laughing, sitting up as far as he dared in the saddle. Isobel couldn't stop smiling, it seemed. She understood why women had children at all, if they got very many moments like this.

To be perfectly honest, she'd never understood it before. Having children cost everything, a woman's figure, her attention, her entire _life_, depending on her resources. And yet, somehow, dozens of mothers managed to look perfectly happy. Isobel knew what the secret was now: their _love_.

Irvine, even being adopted, loved her without question. He had quickly taken to calling her 'mom,' and had quietly told her that he loved her after only months in her home. It had been the easiest heart yet for her to win, although she had to wonder if Edea had something to do with it. All of the children in the orphanage had trusted her implicitly, to the point of blind devotion, and Isobel was certain that it wasn't all natural.

Irvine came around again, waving as he spotted her, and she smiled before waving back. Truth be told, it didn't matter. Irvine _loved_ her, and she didn't care if Edea had somehow encouraged that.

She twisted the ring on her finger, unable to stop herself. Martine loved her, to be sure, but he didn't love her the way Irvine did. He loved her conditionally; so long as she had money and was beautiful and was the perfect creature on his arm, he would love her and support her. Irvine wouldn't care. She was his _mother_, especially since he didn't seem to remember any other before Edea.

When the ride was done, she took his hand again. There were a few cameras that snapped pictures– the engaged Kinneas heir wearing matching hats with her recently revealed son– and Irvine frowned at the photographers. She wouldn't even have noticed them if he hadn't glared at them. She waved to one, had an image to maintain, after all, and then she and Irvine headed back to the car.

She leaned over and buckled him in, taking his hat off as soon as she did. She tousled his hair, giggling as it fell down into his eyes. Martine wanted to cut it, but she liked it long. Irvine was _her_ son, not Martine's, and she was planning on keeping it that way. For once in her life, she wanted something that was _hers_, and hers alone. She cranked the car, and they both relaxed into the seats, letting the cool air wash over them. Irvine leaned forward after a moment and pushed the CD into the player. The radio in the car was useless otherwise, as the radio towers had stopped working, world-wide, five or six years prior. She had to admit that she missed the radio.

"_Whenever sang my songs..._"

Her eyes closed, and she felt her smile fading slowly. Julia's voice always did that to her though, reminded her of the harsh realities of their world. After all, Julia had died in the car wreck a few months ago, leaving behind Martine's closest army buddy, General Fury Caraway and their daughter, Rinoa. She sat up in the seat, buckling herself and pulling off her own hat. After just a minute, she glanced over at Irvine, who was singing quietly along with the music.

"My last night here with you," he traced something on the window, looking out through the glass. "Maybe yes–"

"Maybe no..." She joined in, and he grinned up at her as they started down the road. It was a long drive home, but the day had been worth it, if only for _that_ smile, for that moment. They sang a few other songs on the trip back, and when the manor came into view, she slowed to a stop. They both sat in the car, Irvine looking up at her curiously as she studied it. The desert stretched for miles around it, and she was _certain_ that the rusted heap in the back was the only reason that her father had ever bought the place to begin with.

"Irvine," she finally said, knowing that she couldn't put it off any longer. She had to tell him. He needed to know. "I am going to be married in a few days. … Do you know what that means?"

He shook his head, frowning a little at her tone. "No."

"It means that Mr. Dodonna is going to be moving into the house to live with us. He..." She hesitated, looking over at him. Honestly, she didn't know what to tell him; how much was she supposed to explain to a child? "He loves me very much, and he wants to stay with us so that he can see us more often."

Irvine's frown deepened. She wasn't surprised. He and Martine didn't necessarily get along very well, if only because they were both vying for her attention when they were in the same room. She enjoyed it, to a degree, although she wasn't entirely certain how they'd managed to begin viewing each other as a rival.

"Don't make that face. It'll stick." She reached over and pinched his cheek, laughing. "Mr. Dodonna is a nice enough man, and he's not marrying _you_. You won't have to see a whole lot of him." She blew out a breath, and when Irvine nodded, she finally drove on up to the house. She sent him inside while she gathered their things from the vehicle.

A hand on her back made her jump, and she quickly spun around, her back to the car. "F-father! You frightened me." She reached up a hand, steadying her heart as she realized who it was. "Whatever is the matter with you?"

"Your soldier. Martine? He has had the most brilliant idea, Izzy." Her father shook as he spoke, and she sighed, touching his elbow as she helped him back inside. She didn't bother correcting him about her 'soldier'.

"What is it, father?"

"He and that other boy... Cid?"

"Edea's husband, Cid Kramer." Isobel smiled a little as she guided him to a chair, then fell back into the one nearest him. He nodded vigorously, and she leaned forward a bit. "What about him?"

"They are going to convert that shelter into a school."

"Shelter?" She frowned, trying to think. "That rusted heap in the back of the house?"

"Hush your mouth. Those are Centra ruins you're talking about." He sniffed loudly before he settled a little more into his chair.

She sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead. "So, Martine and Cid are turning them into schools?"

"Yes. They even have a team of scientists coming out to finish fixing it all up. After almost a hundred years, it will be useable to educate the newest generation!"

She smiled at him, patting his arm. "That's lovely, father, you being able to contribute to society in such a way. I will have to talk to Martine." She left her father humming happily in his chair. He was too old to be dealing with men such as Martine and Cid. She would have to _talk_ to the both of them about involving her father in such plots.


	3. Chapter III: Shades of Grey

**Title**: The Pressure of the Moment  
**Author**: Traxits  
**Fandom**: Final Fantasy VIII  
**Chapter Rating**: K+  
**Chapter Content**: Mild angst, blood.  
**Chapter Word Count**: 4096 words.  
**Chapter Summary**: Martine puts a gun in Irvine's hands, and Isobel takes a stand.  
**Author's Note(s)**: This chapter was far more difficult than it rightfully should have been to write. And it was the chapter in which my outline has been subverted and rewritten thanks to Grandpa Kinneas. He seems determined to be a more important character than I originally intended. As for Isobel and Martine, I'm trying to explain motives without being totally in your face about it, and I think, from what feedback I've managed to get, that it's working out. I mean, I certainly haven't had anyone asking me things that are totally off-base, at least.

**[[ … Chapter III: Shades of Grey … ]]**

Martine blew out a breath, one of his hands on Irvine's shoulder. He'd married Isobel over a year ago, and somehow, between getting Galbadia Garden up and running and wheedling the funds out of Isobel's father, he had managed to remain a stranger to the boy. It didn't help, he was sure, that Isobel resisted the idea of his adopting Irvine. She wanted to keep the Kinneas name going, one way or the other.

He felt a smile beginning to touch his lips though, when he spied Fury Caraway waiting for them by an old picnic table. Targets had already been set up some distance from him, and the soldiers that consisted of Fury's personal guard were standing far enough away to offer some privacy. It was something that Martine had long since grown used to after spending most of the war under Fury's command. In some ways, it was almost relaxing, familiar.

"Fury. All ready for us, then?"

Fury raised an eyebrow at the overly familiar tone, sinking down to sit atop the old wooden picnic table. He never seemed to get used to the fact that Martine's service to the great military of Galbadia was over. "I suppose so. I have to admit... I haven't been shooting in a very long time."

"What, you don't practice to stay good at it?" Martine laughed at both Fury's expression and the slight thrill that he got from being so relaxed around someone he still viewed as a superior officer, and he lightly pushed Irvine forward. The boy scowled at him, but still bowed properly to the General, ducking his head and mumbling a greeting.

"It's been a while since I've seen you. Perhaps next time, I'll bring Rinoa with me." Fury ruffled Irvine's hair, and Martine felt a pang of _jealousy_ as he saw the smile that Irvine shot the older man. Then Fury tugged on Irvine's ponytail slightly, making Irvine reach up and quickly dislodge him. "Your hair is longer than hers, I'd wager. However do you see anything through that?"

Irvine wrinkled up his nose, but he laughed all the same. It was only polite to treat such things as jokes after all. If nothing else, Martine had to give Isobel her due; she'd trained the boy to interact with others well enough. Martine reached for one of the guns on the table, studying it carefully. Standard revolver, military issue. Classic Caraway. He smiled.

"Here we go. Why don't we start with this?" He held it out to Irvine, and his eyes narrowed as he watched the boy hold the gun. Irvine frowned a few times as he repositioned the weapon, clearly getting used to the grip and the weight of it. Then Martine pointed him toward the first of the targets. "We'll shoot at that one until–"

A loud crack, and the target was fluttering in the sunlight. Martine glanced over at Irvine. The youth had a perfect stance, supporting himself with his feet spaced properly and the gun held correctly. He'd never seen such an impressive first shot. Fury waved a hand, and one of the soldiers jogged over to get the target and bring it over for their inspection.

It wasn't dead center, but it was well within the accepted area for a good shot. Particularly since it was his first. Martine peeled off and folded the paper without thinking about it, stuffing it into his back pocket. He pointed to the next target. "Two shots."

Irvine once more raised the gun and fired, twice this time, as instructed. Another motion from Fury, and the young soldier brought up the second target for inspection. The first shot was a little high, but the second one was dead center of the target rings. Fury glanced up at Irvine, who had already figured out how to open the chamber of the revolver. The boy snapped it shut, giggling a little to himself until he noticed both men staring at him. Passively, he offered the gun back to Martine.

Fury laughed, and then he picked up the twelve-gauge, double-barrel shotgun from the table. "Fire this," he said, his eyes narrowing. Martine and him both watched, but didn't offer any sort of advice, as Irvine studied the gun for several moments. Then he shouldered it– incorrectly this time– and pointed it. Another moment, and he fired at the third target. His stance was still solid so he stayed on his feet, but it was clear from his expression that he hadn't been expecting the recoil. Irvine glanced back up at them, then gritted his teeth and adjusted the weapon.

He fired again, and Fury didn't bother motioning for the soldier. Both he and Martine could _see_ the impact of the shots in the target. They spent the rest of the day, having Irvine shoot each gun that Fury had brought, and the boy never missed or shot wide after his very first shot with a particular gun. In fact, if they left it in his hands long enough, he would empty the clip, magazine, or otherwise loaded shells, and then figure out how to open it and reload it without assistance. It was the most impressive display either of them had ever seen, particularly in such a young marksman.

"You know that he should be enrolled in your Garden." Fury leaned back on the top of the table, looking over at Martine. For a moment, they were quiet, and then Fury laughed. "Isobel arguing with you about it?"

"If she could, she'd have stopped her father from signing off on the funding of the Garden. I think she would genuinely hurt me if I suggested that Irvine enroll in it." Martine reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing. "It's a pity really. We need good sharpshooters." He could feel Fury's gaze lingering on him, and he pointedly continued to study the targets that were left.

Fury nodded after minute. They watched the wind tug some of the more ruined targets to the ground, and then he said softly, "You could always remind her that Garden cadets cannot be drafted." He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little to mimic Martine's position. He rested his elbows on the tops of his knees, propping his head up in one hand as he looked back at Martine.

"Not that it would matter since he's not fifteen yet. Unless," Martine glanced back, frowning a little. "Is the president going to lower the age again?" It wouldn't have been surprising. Since the Sorceress War, most of the men of fighting age were already enlisted. To increase the army further, Deling would have to do something drastic; the man was not above sending children to their deaths against enemy forces.

"Well, no." Fury shrugged. "But it would be a simple enough matter for someone to slip and pique the president's interest in such natural talent." Fury and Martine both looked back over the sand at the boy. Irvine was sitting, shotgun in his lap, and he was cleaning it, as instructed by one of the General's men.

Martine sighed as he leaned back on the top of the picnic table. "No. I'd rather not have to fight with you as well over this. He'll be in Garden. It's just going to take some time to convince Isobel."

**[[ … ]]**

"What the _hell_ where you thinking, Martine?"

The fight came sooner rather than later.

"Irvine is _nine _years old. He does not need to handling shotguns and handguns and whatever else you and Fury hand him!"

It had been brewing from the moment Isobel had learned of the Gardens. Specifically, the moment she realized that they were training mercenaries. Her anger had only increased when she'd discovered that Balamb Garden was opting to use Guardian Forces.

"This, right here, is why you may not adopt him. Honestly, what if he'd hurt himself?"

He understood why she opposed the use of GFs. He even agreed with her; looking at her father had been all the persuasion necessary for him. The man was scarcely in his fifties, and he could barely remember his own daughter's name. It wasn't as though Martine condoned their use in Galbadia Garden, and he had swayed Trabia to agree with him. It had driven a bit of a wedge between the headmasters, but Cid understood morals and deciding to stand beside them.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course." Purposely, he dragged his eyes up from the papers he'd been sorting through. Winter semester applications had doubled since the previous year as word got around the countryside. "Isobel, it isn't as though I would have let him do anything foolish. Fury and I were both with him when he was handling the guns. The boy is a natural shot, and he enjoys it. There's no reason to refuse to let him do it."

Isobel's frown deepened, and she stopped her pacing– finally– to stand near the door, folding her arms over her middle. A lock of light brown hair fell against her face, and Martine left his desk to walk over to her, reaching up to tuck it back behind her ear.

"Hey, you trust me, don't you? I know... I know he's _your_ son, Isobel." Martine swallowed, lightly rubbing her arms. It was another wedge between them, another _thing_ that lingered and forced them further and further apart. Her desperate _need_ for affection was all-consuming, from her cheerful encouragement of the tabloid photographers to the uncontrollable urge to be in the center of attention. "I'm not trying to take him away from you." He pulled her to him, and he relaxed marginally as she melted against him. The fight wasn't bad, not if she was already responding so easily to him. "I just... I want to have something _with_ him. That's all."

"You're not enrolling him," she whispered, her forehead against his shoulder, and he rubbed her back. "Not now, not ever." Her voice was shaking, undermining her own words. He hid his smile in her hair.

"I wouldn't want that life for him either, dear." He was glad she wasn't looking at him. She couldn't see that he was lying. She couldn't see his amusement at her expense. Every child was destined for something, and clearly, Irvine was born to have a gun in hand. One way or another, Martine was going to make that happen. Isobel, nor anyone else, could stop that.

**[[ … ]]**

"So, the monsters lived inside of you?" Irvine sat on the edge of the couch, his knees drawn up to press against his chest as he studied his grandfather. "How did they eat?"

The older man laughed a little, collapsing back in his chair with a loud sigh. "Well, they're not like pets, boy. They're …" He stared up at the ceiling, and after a moment, Irvine glanced up there too, wondering what exactly he was looking for. Then there was a cough, and his grandfather was staring at him with a blank expression.

"You were telling me about the war," he quickly supplied, recognizing the look. Grandad had forgotten what he was doing. It was common enough though that Irvine didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he simply leaned a little over the arm of the couch. "About the monsters that lived in you."

"Guardian forces."

"GFs?" Irvine's eyes widened when he nodded, and he smiled. "They made you stronger right?"

"Oh, with GFs equipped, we could take out an entire squadron with just a few of us. Three were more than enough for most missions." An affectionate smile crossed the older man's face, and he patted his knee. Irvine readily climbed into his grandfather's lap, well aware that if his mother caught him, he'd be scolded again– _You're too big for that, Irvine!_– he just didn't care. Grandpa Kinneas told him better stories when he sat in the older man's lap.

"Tell me about when you won the war, Grandad."

His grandfather frowned a little, then his eyes cleared and he nodded. "Of course, Izzy," he replied, leaning back a bit more, his hand lightly touching the curly ends of Irvine's hair. Irvine didn't bother correcting him. His mother had warned him several times that it only served to upset the old man more. "Well, we were there at the seaside station. Just unloaded off of the train." Those dark blue eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling, seeing something that Irvine couldn't no matter how hard he tried. "Full frontal assault with our very best. But there was an explosion."

Irvine's brow furrowed as he looked up at his grandfather. The story changed each time it was told, but the key details were always there. The team locked into combat with the enemy, a mysterious explosion, and by the time the smoke cleared, the city was gone. "What about the soldiers? Didn't you fight some of them?"

"The sky was strange." Blue eyes grew hazy. "Pieces of it fell, crushed some of the men. They screamed for hours, but we couldn't..." A swallow. "We couldn't reach them, Izzy–"

"Father! That is _not_ an appropriate story for a nine-year old."

At the sound of his mother's voice, Irvine immediately slid out of his grandfather's lap. "Mom!" He glanced up at her, guilt refusing to let him actually meet her eyes. "Mom, I asked him to–"

"Jeanne, I'm sorry." Grandpa Kinneas waved a hand, sighing as he continued to stare at the ceiling. "It's just a story though. Won't hurt the girl any."

"Father..." She sighed and leaned down to touch his hand. "It's me, Dad. Isobel. Mom died six years ago. You were telling Irvine the story." She closed her eyes and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "You remember Irvine?" She tilted her head, but when he still continued to gaze at the ceiling, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she turned to look at Irvine, and she frowned.

"Irvine. I need to speak with you, dear." She reached for his arm, and he stared up at her as she started walking with him in tow.

"Were you fighting with Martine again?" His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Her make-up was smudged around her eyes, and he could feel the trembles racing down her arm. "What did he say? Mom?"

Isobel didn't even seem to realize how tightly she was gripping Irvine's arm as she tugged him back into his room. He did his best to keep up with her, and suddenly, he'd never been more grateful for how quickly he was growing. His longer legs managed to keep the pressure of her grip from hurting him too badly.

"M-mom, what's wrong?"

He swallowed thickly as she jerked him into the room. The door slammed shut behind them. Instinctively, Irvine glanced over to his pillow, where the revolver Martine had let him keep was hidden. He stayed between his mother and the door, wanting her attention kept away from the bed. "Mom?" He didn't fight her, just left his arm as relaxed as he could. Yielding was easier than trying to struggle.

"Irvine," she turned around to look at him, sighing as she sat lightly on the edge of the chair at his desk. "I need you to make me a promise."

"Anything, Mom." Her hand fell from his arm finally, and he reached for her hand, holding it with both of his own. He dropped to his knees in front of her– he was growing more now; soon he would be as tall as she was– so that he could look up at her face.

She reached out and touched his cheek, smiling just a little, although her eyes still looked suspiciously wet. "You promise me that you'll never become a SeeD. Don't enroll in Garden, Irvine. I love Martine very much, but I don't want him controlling you that way. Do you understand?"

He hesitated, but finally, he shook his head, staring at her. "No," he whispered, and he felt his throat tightening. "I... Mom, Garden is a great school–"

"It's a death-trap!" She jerked away from him and turned in the chair, so that he couldn't see her expression. "They train _killers_, Irvine. Murdering–" She coughed, the sound overly-loud and harsh in the small space, and then very slowly stood. "What is that?"

Irvine felt something cold in the bottom of his stomach, and he stood up just as she reached under his pillow and pulled out the gun. His fingers twitched as he watched hold it– she'd never be able to fire it like that– but he didn't say anything, not wanting to spark her anger further. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut. There wasn't a single thing he could say to help this situation.

"Did he give you this?" She shoved the butt of the gun toward him, her eyes flashing.

He hesitated for only a moment, then quickly took the gun from her, hiding it behind his back. "It's not loaded, Mom. It's not dangerous."

"Not dangerous?" Her voice, somehow, was even higher, and even with it directed at him, Irvine had to work to keep the smile off of his face. Any other time, he wouldn't have been able to. "It's a _gun_, Irvine. The entire purpose of that thing is to kill people."

"You can protect people with it too!" It was foolish to argue, but Irvine couldn't help it. She was _wrong_, and she didn't even realize it. _She_ was the one who had shown him the movies, laughed and cried with him throughout the adventures and stories that played over the screen. She had cheered right beside him when the hero shot the villains, saving the beautiful damsels and defenseless townspeople. She, of all people, was supposed to understand this. He kept the gun behind his back, refusing to let her snatch it from him. "I want to protect you with it, Mom!"

She stilled then, her eyes widening a fraction as she stared at him. Her hand slowly lowered, and the tears spilled down her face. Irvine watched, but his jaw locked and he didn't move.

"I want you to stand up for things you believe in, Irvine," she whispered, "but I also want you to trust me. I'm your mother–"

"And I love you. You _are_ my mother, and I'm supposed to defend you." Irvine tightened his grip on the gun before he opened the chamber to show her. "It's not loaded, Mom. Martine still has all of the ammo." He tasted something bitter in the back of his throat, but he pushed it down. She wouldn't find the small box of bullets pressed up against the wall under his bed.

She sighed, the wind of her anger having escaped with his interruption. "Fine. Shoot the gun if you must." Her hands touched his shoulders lightly though, and he looked up at her, swallowing. "But swear to me, Irvine. Swear that you won't enroll in Garden. I don't want you to be a SeeD."

"Mrs. Dodonna?" The voice from the hallway was unexpected, but welcome. Irvine and Isobel both quickly glanced up, and the maid in the door bobbed her head before dipping into a slight curtsey. "My apologies for interrupting, ma'am, but the voice teacher is waiting in the music room."

Isobel nodded and smiled warmly to the woman. "Of course. Irvine, why don't you go practice? We can talk later." She carefully took the gun from him, pushed him toward the door, and stood, dusting off the knees of her pants. He watched her lay the gun on his pillow before he let the maid steer him down the hallway, and he closed his eyes as he heard his mother's coughing start again.

**[[ … ]]**

Shooting became a weekly thing, although the General didn't always accompany them. When he did, he brought along a small girl with long black hair, Rinoa, who seemed about as interested in the guns as Irvine was in her plush dog, Sant'Angelo di Roma. Instead, she stayed on the far side of the picnic table, while both men watched Irvine shoot different targets and try different guns.

Sometimes it wasn't even guns that they had him try. More than once, they brought him some sort of device that the Galbadian military had created– a "blaster edge," General Caraway had called it– and they had shown him how to strap it onto his arm. He hadn't cared for it, for pressing the little button on the side of the arm band and watching the circular blade fly off into the target before returning like a boomerang. He didn't know how it worked, and while he didn't have much _trouble_ with it, he simply didn't like it. Instead, he'd passed it off to Rinoa, who had taken to it cheerfully, much to the General's shock.

As much as Irvine hated to admit it, he loved going shooting, especially as his mother's coughing fits became more and more common, as the doctors began to stay in the house with them. When he was standing there, feet planted in the sand, the wind blowing over his face, the weight of the gun against him, he could forget about everything else. He could just focus on the problem at hand, on timing his shots with the rhythm that Rinoa would tap out over the table or the soft whispers Martine would exchange with the General.

He'd amuse himself, shooting in specific areas on the target to spell out words– 91901 (idiot) and 2112194 (bastard) were his favorites– or by making a design in a tight group of shots. Most of the soldiers who had guard duty enjoyed those, particularly the five-pointed star. He noticed that they were a lot more polite to him if he did that one at least once a session. Proof that it wasn't just luck, he supposed. That was something that Martine harped on often enough.

Almost a year to the day of the first time they'd come out shooting, General Caraway accompanied them to the range. Rinoa wasn't there this time, and there was a huge black bag sitting on the top of the table. Irvine felt something strange in his stomach as the General unzipped it. Sunlight danced along the edges of the pieces inside the bag, and Irvine reached for the scope, holding it up to one of his eyes.

Martine was the one who showed him how to put the gun together, the one who helped him shoulder the massive weapon and brace himself for the recoil. For several long moments, Irvine simply held it against him, his eyes closing. Something big was happening, and he couldn't quite point out what it was. The gun was important, and even more importantly, he knew that it was the weapon he'd been working up toward. The gun, _this gun_, was a key.

The first time he fired it, he _felt_ the bruise spreading over his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, looking over at both men on the table. They were studying him carefully, and he swallowed back the cry that had almost escaped. He wasn't about to show a reaction yet. They had him fire it five more times, and by the time that Martine finally called it a day, Irvine was fighting the tears.

When they arrived back at home, he raced up the stairs toward his room, holding his screaming shoulder. His foot caught on something soft in the hallway just outside of his room though, and he went down, unable to stop the tears. Quickly, he pushed himself back up and his eyes widened suddenly as he realized _what_ he'd tripped over. His mother's ankle jutted out of the music room, and she lay there, her eyes open and sightless as she stared at the door, blood pooling from her mouth onto the floor under her face.

He couldn't stop screaming.


	4. Chapter IV: Letting Go

**Title**: The Pressure of the Moment  
**Author**: Traxits  
**Fandom**: Final Fantasy VIII  
**Chapter Rating**: T.  
**Chapter Content**: Major angst, assassination.  
**Chapter Word Count**: 2838 words.  
**Chapter Summary**: Irvine, left with Martine and an ailing grandfather, begins to make his own decisions. He meets a young SeeD, Lisa, who takes him under her wing.

**[[ … Chapter IV: Letting Go … ]]**

It should have been raining.

She would have appreciated the symbolism; the sky ripping open and pouring out the same tears that Irvine fought to keep from spilling over his own face. It would have been easier to bear had it rained. The tears wouldn't have been noticed.

But instead of raining, the sun streamed down, glinting off of the dark wood of the coffin. She lay in the plush white cushions, soft brown hair spilling out over her pillow in beautiful curls. Her green eyes were closed, but she looked as though she'd sit up at any moment and laugh at them all for being so serious. Irvine wished that she _would_, but he knew better. He knew it wasn't the first time he'd seen those sightless eyes, and he knew, in the pit of his stomach, that it wouldn't be the last.

He clutched his grandfather's hand, closing his own eyes at the sound of the older man's sobbing, and he dipped his shoulder a few times to dislodge Martine's hand from it. Martine gave him a look, but Irvine was beyond caring. It wasn't until Martine's speech over her coffin that the awful truth really sank in: he was being viewed as _Martine's_ son. His back straightened under the weight of everyone's gaze, he could hear whispers starting. She would have turned and waved to one of the cameras with a little giggle before nudging him in the shoulder to do the same, but Irvine couldn't do it.

He felt hollow. There was no gut-wrenching agony, no sharp spears of pain shooting through him at her passing. Numbly, he stood there beside the coffin, waiting for something, anything that would stop the funeral. He watched Martine walk up to her first, felt wetness pricking at the backs of his eyes as Martine leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Someone started crying in one of the rows.

By the time it was all over, Irvine had the terrible understanding that everything was completely different. Nothing would ever be the same after that. He simply had no idea how right he was.

They drove back to the manor as a family, Martine and Irvine and Grandpa Kinneas, and after they had gotten the old man settled in his suite of rooms, Martine took Irvine by the hand into the study. Irvine had only been in the study once or twice, and his entrance had always been followed by an almost immediate scolding. But this time, Martine simply fell back into his chair, poured himself a glass of something that he had sitting on the desk- the scent of it burned Irvine's nose- and sighed loudly.

"Irvine," he said, and it was clear that he was bracing himself. Irvine couldn't imagine what for, but he supposed that the polite thing to do was to wait it out. He stood near the door, so that he could make a quick escape if he got the chance to. "Irvine, I want to ask you something. Do you really understand what happened today?"

"Mother's dead," Irvine said slowly, his eyes narrowing. There was something wrong here, he just didn't know what it was. She would have known, and she'd have been able to fix it with one of her smiles and a wave of her hand; he was sure of that much.

"Yes... yes, she is." Martine shook the glass in his hand, making the drink slosh around until it coated the sides. "Irvine, I want to adopt you. Become your father. Properly."

Irvine felt everything inside of him tense. It felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run, to get out of that room, to do something, anything but stand there. But Irvine didn't move, only tilted his head slightly and asked, "Why?" His eyes narrowed. He was missing something. There had been a reason she had never let Martine adopt him, he just wasn't sure what it was.

"Because you're like a son to me." Martine studied his drink, and slowly, his eyes lifted to look up at Irvine over the rim of the glass. "Think about it. You don't have to decide now." He waved a hand, a dismissal.

He'd done that to Isobel as well, whenever she had asked him for something he didn't care for.

Irvine stayed exactly where he was, only moving enough to put his hand on the door knob beside him. He swallowed, and then he shook his head. Martine lowered the glass to gaze at him, and Irvine shook his head a little harder. "I-I'm a Kinneas, not your son," he said quietly, and then he slipped out the door before Martine could say anything else to him.

He broke into a run down the hall, but there was no sound of Martine following, so when he rounded the corner, he stopped. He leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, his knees pressed against his chest. His arms ached as he wrapped them around his knees, and he let his head rest against the wall. Tears finally streamed down his face, incapable of being stopped. They had built up too much over the course of the day.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't ready to play these games, wasn't ready to hold his own against Martine yet. His mother was supposed to be there, still protecting him, still teaching him.

The next morning, Irvine woke to find that his bags had already been packed. He was to move into Garden by that evening. The next week was hell. No two ways about it. He had been enrolled as an 'orphan', but not a cadet, so he wasn't officially SeeD material. That meant he was an in-between student, one that the teachers weren't actually certain what to do with. Even worse, he had tested out of all of the lower classes involving guns.

He was in a sniping course, and he was the youngest person in the room by several years. He wasn't even certain of what he was doing in the class, since he didn't understand most of the technical jargon that went along with it. Altitude and wind speed and angles in such a practical application were all well beyond his basic theoretical knowledge. But then they'd done their first field course, and Irvine had discovered that he _could_ do it.

He'd been the first one to fire the gun, and the moment his hands touched it, he felt a peace still over him. He peered through the scope, swallowing and simply breathing. He could actually focus on the task at hand, the first time since his mother's death.

He watched the flag in the wind, and when the teacher nudged him lightly, reminding him that it was a field exercise, not simply a look-see, he took aim toward the target. It was ridiculously huge, a bright red target designed to bolster confidence among the cadets. Irvine's first shot struck center, and he handed off the gun with a sullen frown.

He didn't want to let go of it, wanted to hold on to it, to cling to it. He wanted to take it back to the dormitory and take it apart. But it wasn't his. He couldn't.

For the rest of the semester, he lived for that class, and while he did poorly on almost all of his written tests that accompanied it, he could recite anything they were required to memorize, and he passed his final exam. It was a field exercise, after all.

It wasn't until he was in his second sniping course that he met her. Lisa. She sat beside him in class, offered him a grin and waggled her fingers at him. Shyly, he'd returned the attention, and she had helped him understand the written portion of the class. In return, he'd tried to explain the details of actually firing the gun to her.

He could hardly find words that would describe it, but after the second attempt, she had simply smiled, touched his arm, and thanked him. They'd finished their homework and had lunch together. She was four years older than him, but he didn't care. Everyone in Garden, it seemed, was older than him. The difference was that she was the only one who seemed to care, who really saw him and spoke to him.

"Lisa?" They spoke most often during their lunch breaks, whispering behind the gym since speaking in the hallways caused disciplinary actions. "Why does your notebook say Mrs. Lisa Jaileen?" He frowned, looking up at her. "Your last name is Dorien, isn't it?"

She blushed and snatched her notebook back, her fingers lingering over the doodle. "It's just something I wrote. It doesn't mean anything."

"Instructor Jaileen teaches, doesn't he?" Irvine tilted his head. "Ooh! You're _crushing_ on him!" He grinned widely, and when she squirmed in her chair, he laughed. "You _are_."

"No! No, it's nothing like that." Her blush darkened though, and she leaned back a little more, drawing the book closer to herself.

Irvine studied her for a minute, and then he leaned forward, asking her, "But Doctor Harade said that Jaileen is a 'bad boy'. Why do you like him?"

Lisa giggled a little. "_Because_ he's a bad boy, Irvine. He... He doesn't play by the same rules as everyone else." She traced a finger over her doodle again. "Girls like that. They like boys that they have to fix. It's exciting. Besides, it doesn't mean anything. He's a teacher; I'm a student. It can't ever go anywhere." She giggled to herself, and that was the end of the conversation.

Except that it was unusual in Irvine's opinion. Bad boys, black hats. It seemed like she was talking about the same kind of man, honestly.

He wondered briefly where his own hat had gotten off to- it hadn't been packed in his things to go to Garden- and then he smiled to himself. Not that it mattered. The white hat his mother had gotten him no longer seemed to fit.

A white hat wouldn't be learning to murder people for a living, after all.

It was only a matter of time before he was called to put theoretical knowledge to the test. He was excited, strange as it was. The entire car ride, with a SeeD sitting on either side of him, he could hardly sit still. The SeeDs had chosen his location, and as soon as he sank down, hands on the gun, he felt his breathing finally even out.

He looked through the scope, watched as the old man he was supposed to shoot settled onto the bench. He set the coffee cup beside him, opened the paper, and then picked it back up. Irvine smiled faintly, wondering for only a moment what sort of man he was. Then he felt the SeeD beside him touch his shoulder, remind him with just a touch what they were there for. Irvine sighed.

A squeeze of the trigger was all that it took to shatter the moment, to break the quiet calm of the park. The old man stayed up right for a moment, but his fingers let go of the coffee cup, and Irvine watched as it bounced across the sidewalk, lid flying off and coffee splattering everywhere. A woman screamed, and the SeeD was pulling on his shoulder, ordering him to wipe down the gun, to leave it where it was.

Irvine felt his breath catch, felt the SeeD pull the weapon away from him in order to do it herself. Then she was pulling him along behind her, and Irvine gasped, struggling to cope with the sudden tightness of his chest. Whatever had happened, he was certain that Isobel wouldn't have approved. He could see it, could hear her stern tone informing him that he was _not_ doing something that would honor the Kinneas name-

And still he let the SeeD drag him behind her. He couldn't stop, couldn't have done anything at all by himself in that moment. Had she not been there, he would have stayed with the gun, incapable of moving. There was a flurry of activity, of people shouting and then the SeeD was falling. Irvine stared for a moment, uncertain of what had happened, and then he saw the blood, saw the guns pointed at him. The soldiers were shouting, yelling at him to put his hands up.

He didn't hesitate, instead pulling out the small pistol that he had refused to leave behind. He emptied the clip into the soldier who had shot his SeeD, shot his protector. He grabbed the front of her shirt, tried to pull her with him, but she was too heavy. A second set of hands snatched him up, and he struggled just until he realized that it was the second SeeD, the one who was supposed to secure the train tickets to get them home.

"She's dead," Irvine whispered, and the SeeD simply nodded as they ran for the train station. They lost the soldiers before the SeeD ducked into the train and opened the SeeD cabin. Irvine hesitated before he entered, well aware that he wasn't supposed to be there. The SeeD pulled out a kit from a small cabinet, and he dug out the cleaning wipes to push into Irvine's hands.

"I will be right back, do you understand?" The SeeD waited for Irvine's slow nod, and then he added, "Whatever happens, don't leave this train car."

Irvine nodded again. The SeeD headed back out the door then, and Irvine tried to clean himself up. There was blood all over him, and he realized belatedly that even his jeans were splattered. He cleaned off his face and hands, feeling his breath beginning to catch, feeling a tightness in his chest that he couldn't name. He couldn't get her face out of his head, eyes wide open and blank. He couldn't stop seeing the coffee cup bouncing across the sidewalk, twisting and turning-

The sound of the train door opening made him jump, and the SeeD dropped the shopping bag by the couch before he helped Irvine peel off his shirt. The SeeD glanced at Irvine's jeans for a minute before he finally sighed and fished out a pair of light brown pants from the bag. Irvine glanced at them, frowning as he realized they weren't pants, not … exactly.

"Chaps," the SeeD explained, even as he helped Irvine pull them on over the blood-stained jeans. "First thing I found in your size." He offered a sheepish smile, and Irvine realized that the SeeD probably hadn't noticed they weren't pants until he'd paid. "They'll get you home without too many questions."

Irvine nodded slowly, and he pulled on the green shirt that the SeeD had bought for him. His eyes widened as he saw the hat in the bottom of the bag, and he pulled it out, raising an eyebrow to the SeeD.

"Came with the pants, apparently," he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."

Irvine's fingers traced over the black brim hesitantly, and he bit his bottom lip for a moment before he pulled it on. He was wearing blood-soaked jeans under the innocuous brown chaps. The black hat seemed oddly fitting.

The SeeD sat on the couch beside Irvine. They were quiet until the train jerked and began to pull away from the station. They both breathed a soft sigh of relief, then exchanged smiles. Irvine considered his options for a moment, and then he reached out and took the SeeD's hand in his own. He offered a little squeeze.

"Did you... know her?" He looked down at the floor. He didn't want to see the expression that the SeeD might have.

"Not well." There was a reassuring squeeze in response. "Classmate. Took our field test in Balamb together. … Is it true you refuse to become a cadet?"

Irvine swallowed before he looked up, pasting the blandest smile possible on his face. "Don't wanna be a SeeD," he said casually. He hadn't wanted to disappoint Isobel, hadn't wanted to make her frown.

"What do you want to be?"

There was a moment of silence, as Irvine really considered the question. He had never asked himself that, had never been asked that. Everyone had assumed that because he was Martine's son he would become a SeeD, take over Garden whenever Martine retired. He had never seen another option.

"Free," he said finally, and he looked across the car at the wall.

When they disembarked, Irvine wondered what the onlookers thought of them; a SeeD, no more than eighteen or nineteen, holding a twelve year old's hand. They couldn't see the blood caking his jeans, couldn't have known that he was already one of the best sharpshooters in Galbadia.

The black hat was all the warning that they would get.


End file.
